Shangrila
by Black-Diamonds
Summary: Sequel to ‘A Thorn-torn Soul of Thunder Weeps for the Rain’. It’s often too hard to let go of the past. Hermione still yearns for the boy beyond the shadows, and the love lost long ago. But Draco's dead and gone...or is he? -CHAPTER #4 POSTED-
1. lost intoxication

disclaimer: -points at the recognisable characters, settings, names, etc.- ...you know the drill people, and you know they're not mine. j.k. rowling owns them. the plot is mine.  
  
a/n: this is the sequel to 'a thorn-torn soul of thunder weeps for the rain'. this story would make more sense if you read that one first. :)  
  
  
  
  
  
~  
  
Clicking off the last light in the library, Hermione sighed somewhat tiredly. She picked up her jacket from the table near the door with a yawn, and decided that a drink was what she needed. Drowning her sorrows in jazz and liquor...a fatal combination surely, but one that could knock away the ghosts of the past for at least a few hours.  
  
The dimly lit bar in East London had surprisingly few customers for a Friday night. But there were a few people scattered throughout the room, enveloped in a lonely half-light. They all resembled moths that had fluttered towards a distant globe, battered and worn.  
  
//Just like me//, Hermione thought. Wearily dropping into a barstool, she ordered a gin and tonic. Then another. Being drunk meant she lost her mind to an intoxicated world of spinning strangers and strange voices. As she reached out her hand for another glass in front of her, Hermione absentmindedly noted that the bartender had blonde hair. A wave of something electric ran down her spine and then tingled through her hand to the finger with the silver dragon. Half out of her mind, she half expected the dragon to start writhing across her skin, but nothing happened. It remained solid and motionless. Shrugging listlessly to herself, Hermione downed more of the alcoholic substance in the glass, ignoring the way it burned her throat as she swallowed it.A few hours later, she stumbled out on to the dark street and barely made it to her car. But as she reached the door and drunkenly fumbled with her keys, the skies opened up and large drops of rain fell to the earth. The sudden downpour made something in her snap, like an instrument string pulled too tightly. For two years, there'd been something in the back of her mind...a splinter. An inaccessible itch that often made her dizzy with a need to get -something- out into the open. Feelings long buried, perhaps.  
  
Kneeling on the wet cement by her car, Hermione dropped her keys and cried.  
  
//You silly pretty thing. What kind-of-a-mess HAVE you gotten yourself into??// A sadistically gleeful voice in her head cried.  
  
Hermione didn't fight the inner demons that cackled madly inside her. Instead, she sank back on her heels, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed quietly.  
  
When we feel something deeper than the blackness of night, we give up on caring about what the rest of the world -thinks-, and strive to rediscover what our hearts -feel-.  
  
~  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N:  
  
Short chapter, I know, but more chapters are coming. Thankyou for the amazing feedback, the continual support, and the time taken to read and review. You're all truely wonderful :c) 


	2. living a lie L is for

Hermione awoke the next day with a jackhammer pounding inside her skull. Holding her head with one hand, Hermione slowly made her way to the kitchen and filled a glass with cool water. Bright sunlight made the taps in the sink sparkle, and music floating in from an open window filled her apartment with the gentle sounds of Chopin and Bach. It all seemed like a normal average Saturday, the view from the window nearest to her revealing passing cars on the street and hurrying pedestrians with their own agendas.  
Her silent reverie was broken by the brash jangling of the telephone. Setting down the glass from her hand, Hermione picked up the handset.  
"Hello?"  
"Oh hello, is that Amy Robertson?"  
"Uh yes, speaking..." It was often strange for Hermione to respond to her new name.  
"This is Jenny Anderson from the library. We're just wondering where you got to."  
"Oh heck." Her Saturday shift in the library had been totally forgotten.  
"Oh it's all right. We were just wondering is all. Look, you sound like you're feeling a bit under the weather, and we've got someone filling in. So just take it easy okay? I'll cancel your days for the next week and get Rebecca to come in for you."  
"Thankyou, er, Jenny."  
"Bye then Amy. Take care now sweetie."  
"Bye." Hermione hung up the phone and sat down on a kitchen stool. The music from outside had changed. It was now a jazzy romantic number, full of swinging beats.  
  
|| L...is for the way you look, at me...O...is for the only one, I see...V...is for the very, extraordinary... ||  
  
Hermione slammed the window shut. Moping around was not the best thing to do. In fact, it was driving her half insane right now. Sadness only made her head hurt more, and pain was something she didn't need more of. She found some headache tablets, took three of them, and decided to go for a walk. Before leaving for it, she fed her goldfish, and washed some dishes in the sink. Normality -was- what she needed. Stability. But how hard it was to feel safe and secure, after everything she'd been through.  
  
*  
  
Outside the apartment block, the breeze was cold, but the day was almost nauseously cheerful. Two children were bouncing a ball between them, and as it reached her, Hermione picked it up and tossed it back to them. After buying some sugarless scalding coffee from a street cafe, Hermione sat down on a bench in the park. She looked over wearily at some children playing nearby.  
Ifonlyifonlyifonlyifonly.  
If only the past weren't what it was. This could have been a bright happy day. She could have been sitting there with a milkshake, reading a magazine. Their children could have been playing on the grass, with Draco keeping a watchful fatherly eye over them to make sure they were okay.  
Couldhavebeen.  
A little girl in a blue cotton dress wandered up to her. The small child regarded her with bright blue eyes and smiled.  
"You're pretty." The girl smiled broadly. Hermione couldn't help but smile back.  
"Thanks, what's your name?"  
"Mione Weasley, three n' a half." She held up three fingers. Hermione nearly choked as she took another sip of her coffee. Couldn't be. No. Had to be a very big coincidence. The girl didn't seem to notice the awkward silence. Hermione swallowed hard and met the girl's gaze.  
"That's a very pretty name."  
"Thanks! How old are you?"  
"28."  
"Wow...you're the same age as my Unco Ron." Hermione gripped the sides of the now empty foam cup in her hand so hard it cracked. The girl continued in her merry voice.  
"You look like this lady from these pictures in Unco Ron's house. She's really pretty too. But Unco Ron said she had to go away...he was very sad."  
Nononononononono.  
"Oh here comes daddy!" Mione turned and gestured her arms towards her father. Hermione looked up from where she was sitting. Fred Weasley didn't look any different from the last time she saw him. He lifted his squealing three year old daughter on to his shoulders, and finally saw Hermione.  
"Hermione?"  
"Fred?" So, it wasn't a coincidence. Chance of all chances, fate had given her a hangover, she'd missed work, had come to the park instead, and Ron Weasley's niece had bounced over and brought back the past. Hermione silently wondered if God was punishing her for getting so drunk. Good Girl turned Bad-and-Unsober-Girl. her head swam with confusion. Was this really punishment? To be reminded of way-back-when by meeting someone from days long gone? Fred set Mione down again. The girl giggled and dashed off towards a swing set.  
"You have a beautiful daughter Fred."  
"Thankyou."  
"Is she...well, you know..."  
"I think she is. You mean, magical, right?" Hermione nodded, and Fred continued. "Once, when she was two, Alice tried to give her a bath, and Mione turned the bath water to green jelly. I'm telling you, it gave Alice such a fright." Hermione smiled at the thought.  
"So is Alice...?"  
"Mione's half and half." Hermione nodded again, not in the least affected by the fact that Fred had married a muggle. Fred looked over at her daughter, who waved. "She's a bright kid. I think she really takes after her namesake."  
A restless silence settled between them. Hermione picked at the hem of her black shirt.  
"I'm Amy Robertson now." She whispered, her eyes not meeting Fred's.  
"You'll always be Hermione to us." Fred placed a gentle hand on hers. "We've been trying to find you for god knows how long. We miss you."  
"It's only been two years." //But oh, it's seemed so much longer. I tried to run, and I tried to hide...//  
"It feels like forever...to all of us. Mother panicked. She cried and cried, saying we should have done more. Ron was inconsolable. But me and George thought it was best to give you some space. But perhaps..."  
"Fred there is no perhaps. You were right. I needed to hide from Hermione Granger. I needed to learn to let go. But it's proving to be so difficult."  
"You really loved that bigoted pasty little slime ball, didn't you?"  
"Fred." Her tone was stern and her eyes flashed with slight anger.  
"Sorry, it's just that...he did kill your parents you know."  
"He didn't! Someone else did." Hermione found her breathing increase rapidly, and her hands clenching and unclenching.  
"Yeah, someone else under his orders. Hermione, we can't forget all those lives he destroyed. I mean, Neville was never the same after his whole family was killed. I mean-"  
"You don't know him! You don't! Don't you dare start lecturing me on how to feel about him, because -you- never even knew him the way -I- did!" Hermione herself was shocked at the way her words lashed out. Instantly, she tried to calm down, although she was shaking. She moved her hands in an apologetic manner.  
"Look Fred...I'm sorry. I really am. It's just that-"  
He waved his hand nonchalantly.  
"Nah, look...don't worry about it. Anyway, I have to go. Mione..." He turned and called out to his daughter, before turning back to Hermione. "I'll tell everyone you're okay...let them know you're safe and all."  
"Fred...stay. We can talk a bit more. My apartment, it's not far from here..."  
"I'm sorry, but I have to go back. See you around Hermione..." He waved slightly, turned, and walked off. Hermione stared after him, an uncontrollable sadness and a newfound loss tearing at her. Happiness and sunshine surrounded her. A gentle breeze whispered through the trees. But she was lost inside her own inner world of darkness and shadows, where she felt herself free-falling towards an uncertain future.  
Everything had been hidden under a disguise of normality for the past two years. She'd pretended to be someone she wasn't. Amy Roberton, who payed her taxes, bills, complained about the shoddy heating in the apartment and ate fast food after work. The alcohol deep into the evenings had acted as a corrosive. It had stripped away the disguise she'd so clumsily put on, and revealed the truth. Seeing Fred Weasley had shaken her already unstable version of normality altogether. Hermione couldn't help but wonder how 'Unco Ron' was doing. And Harry...the Golden Wonder Boy of Hogwarts, how was he?  
But as she gazed-wihout-seeing out on to the street beyond the park, Hermione felt the voice in her head declare in a sing-song voice...  
//Gold is gold...But it can't be platinum...//  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
a/n:  
Thankyou for the reviews...you know they mean a lot 2 me :) You're all so wonderful, and your comments make me feel so cheery:) I'm glad you enjoy my writing, and your enthusiasm is a real inspiration!  
  
just a note:  
LilyAyl: 'Music Of The Night' is wonderfully dark, and we all know I like dark stories. They have a certain...charm to them. Oh, and btw, the e-owl should be on its way!  
  
The story is titled the way it is, (Shangrila*The nightingale Song), because nightingales are thought to be enchantingly beautiful birds. Shangrila, being a word meaning like, paradise, it all sort of fits. Well, it will, anyway:) I guess more of the story needs to be rolled out for everything to fit together.  
As 2 what happens next: you'll just have 2 wait + c. :D  
  
Music credits: L-O-V-E is by Natalie Cole. Go listen to her stuff. It's good:)  
I am a D/H shipper, thru+thru...BUUUUUUT. There might possibly be a Harry+Draco fic on the way. Possibly. 


	3. 1stepforward IIstepsback

The rest of Saturday and Sunday went by like a hazy fog. Between alcohol, cigarettes, and the occasional re-runs of old movies of channel 4, Hermione found herself lost in continual chains of thought. She mentally pictured scenes from her life, flying past her mind's eye like pieces of film.  
"Practically a god-damn soap opera." She muttered bitterly Sunday afternoon, shivering in the apartment. Rubbing her bare arms, she kicked the heater, which was doing anything but giving warmth to the room. While phoning the land lady, Hermione took a look at her reflection in the mirror by the door. Her brown hair hung limply by her face, and her grey shorts and t-shirt reflected the sobriety of the day. Waiting for someone to fix the heating, she wished for the first time really, since...then...that she could have someone to talk to.  
~  
Monday morning brought a thousand litres of rain. It sloshed down the streets, spraying the sidewalk from beneath rushing cars. People huddled like ants, beneath brightly coloured umbrellas - the only sign of colour that day. Hermione shivered in the cold as she walked from her car to the door of the library. Just inside the door, she took of her plastic rain hat, and attempted to wring out her wet hair that hung in dripping tendrils around her pale face. She'd phoned up on Sunday and explained to Jenny that she would be able to take her shifts, seeing as she felt better and all.  
The heat inside the building warmed her instantly. But as she took off her coat and hung it up, Hermione realised there was a warmth that could never be replaced, and that it was the glow she felt surround her when she was in Draco's arms.  
~  
"And the prince and princess lived happily ever after. The end." Hermione closed the thick colourful book in her hands, before looking down at the circle of a dozen or so children that say around her.   
"Well, go on then, I'll see you all next week." She said, waving her hand and smiling at them. They giggled and dashed off to rejoin their parents. Story time over, Hermione stood up and stretched her arms. The happenings of Saturday were still very much present in her mind, but like everything else that rocked her precarious, barely-there existence, she tried to put it to the side and take one step at a time.  
~  
Time seemed to drift by even more lazily that day, as if the clocks had all slowed down. After lunch and another cigarette, Hermione went back in and started reshelving books for her afternoon shift. As she reached up to a high shelf to place back a battered copy of Aldous Huxley's 'Brave New World' in its place, a glimmer of golden silver caught her eye. Her eyes snapped back to the corner, her heart pounding with a desperation. However, the man turned around, and Hermione caught a glimpse of his face. He had green eyes, like Harry's, not those orbs of lustrous moon light. Hermione bit down on her bottom lip hard, trying not to cry, but fighting a losing battle.  
Thedeaddon'tcomebacktolife...it was a sort of mantra she chanted inside her head, trying to remind herself not to cling on to illusions.  
//Stop it// she mentally scolded, //You can't just do this every time you see a head of silvery blonde hair catch the light. You can't just keep stabbing yourself with fantasies. He's dead, okay? Dead.//  
//And what?// Another quiet voice asked at the back of her mind. //Do you actually think that one day, he'll just waltz into your apartment, sweep you into his arms, and you'll live happily ever after?//  
And so she ignored every stranger's head-from-the-back, every tall man in dark clothes.  
But every flicker of a shadow on a fence at night sent an unexplained shiver up her spine, every ringing of the phone made her heart beat with passionate hope. Empty hopes and dreams of things that could be.  
~  
That evening, as she hurried out the library, Hermione felt eyes watching her from beyond the rim of where the shadows met the light from the glowing street lamp. She dismissed it as another daydream of the heart, another hallucination. But the eyes followed her from the library to the apartment block to her room. She found herself laughing for being so paranoid as she warmed up a bowl of noodles in the microwave, but found the apartment to suddenly be eerily silent when she stopped laughing at the ping of the microwave.  
For some reason, as much as she wanted to deny her past, Hermione had always kept her wand with her. Now, as she sensed that she wasn't quite alone in the apartment, she reached for it from her bag and gripped it tightly.  
  
"Who's there?" It was meant to be a boldly spoken question, but instead it came out a frightened squeak. She shook her head and mentally scolded herself. The little mental voice in her head was back.  
//Some big brave Gryffindor you are!//...it taunted...//Poor scared little Hermione Granger!//  
"That's Hermione Granger-Malfoy to you buddy." She muttered to herself, half-paranoid. Feeling somewhat more self-assured, she straightened up her back.  
"I said who's there?" She loudly called out to the emptiness of the apartment. No reply came. After several agonising minutes of standing stiffly waiting for some supernatural event to happen, Hermione gave up. Tucking her wand into the pocket of her big art-smock-like garment, she quickly threw the bowl of noodles into the bin and opted for a nuked mug of instant hot chocolate.  
//Just like Dumbledore used to make...// she remembered wistfully, curling up in a beanbag. As the warm chocolate slid down her throat, Hermione gently let her eyelids close. Finishing the mug off, she placed it on the table nearby. I really should get to bed, Hermione thought.  
........  
"Hermione?"  
"What?" The usual automatic retort whenever her name was called, though these occasions were rare and far-between these days.  
"Hermione...I..."  
"You left me! How could you? I needed you! And You. Left. Me!" Though afterwards, she wouldn't properly remember why, Hermione felt angry. She felt the need to smash all the damn windows in the apartment and rip up every damn book in the damn library. She couldn't even really see the face of the person she was yelling and screaming at. All she could feel and experience was the anger flood through her like a tidal wave. Her faith in love had been broken in a single moment, like a plate smashing on a tiled floor. Feeling a slow burning pain, Hermione let out a small cry, and looked down to find the dragon on her finger glowing like a rod of iron left to heat up in a fire. With a sudden urgency, Hermione reached out a hand towards the person in the pale silver robes.  
"Don't you bloody well think of leaving again!"  
But like time and time before, the soft folds of material slipped from between her fingers.  
Hermione suddenly felt like she'd been throw down a black hole. She hurtled headlong towards some unknown dimension, screaming inwardly.  
She awoke with a thump, wincing in pain as her hip hit the floor hard, and her head banged against the night stand next to the bed. Another dream that had rocked her out of her slumber. She'd been having these strange dreams since Draco's death, and nothing could be done to prevent them. The drugs didn't help either...the little white prescription pills on the bedside table. They just made it worse.  
As she rubbed her sleep-filled eyes, Hermione heard a soft but audible pop from the front room.  
Before she could get up to find out the source of the familiar sound, Hermione heard footsteps coming towards her room.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
a/n:  
once again, thanks for the reviews :)  
ps. as 2 what happens...you'll just have to wait + c. :) 


	4. Familiar Feels like Home

A shock of flame red hair entered her room. Through blurry half-asleep eyelids, Hermione could not tell whether she was dreaming like always or if this was real.  
If she never wanted to wake up each day to face the miserable emptiness that constituted her life, how could she have ever known dream from reality...  
As she rubbed away the last traces of sleep from her tired eyes, Hermine gasped, surprise running through her system like a current of numbing icy water.  
"Ron!"  
"Hermione I....Hermione...it's just..."  
"Oh shut up Ron!" Hermione leapt up and flung her arms around Ron, holding on as if he were an anchor in a stormy ocean. And ocean of mischances and lonely choices; the boring conundrum of her life that revolved beyond her control.  
"I have a question...Mione, is my baby sister dead?"  
Smallest Weasley; fragile, delicate Ginny. A blossoming flower left unnoticed, underestimated far too long, until it had pushed her over the edge. Missing. But was she dead? Hermione herself was afraid to answer that question. Like so many things, it was a memory of the past, and Hermione was scared to remember those sorts of things a fear that had grown like a phobia.  
Draco had been afraid of failure. Hermione was afraid to live and relive.  
  
She drew back from Ron, her eyes opening at the bluntness of the question. Hermione dropped her gaze to the floor, her bare toes digging into the soft peach carpet. A brief memory of playing at the beach in the sand came back to her, rising from the shadowy labyrinth of her mind. It took a surprising blow. A pang of sheer remorse at her lost childhood struck her.  
"Hermione?"  
"I don't know Ron. I honestly don't know."  
Ron swallowed hard.  
"Was she...was she all right, you know, the last time you saw her?"  
Hermione looked at him and nodded slightly, trying to avoid his eyes, that she was sure were filled with a restless anxiousness.  
"The last time...I saw her...she was."  
"She wasn't fine was she?" Ron's voice quavered and trembled. "That damn...cult! They stole my little sister! I'll track every-"  
"Ron,"  
"How could they?!" His voice rose several levels and created a new meaning for 'sudden hysterics'.  
"Ron, please." Hermione pleaded desperately. "Please calm down. Ginny was fine the last time I saw her. She was happy." //And if I keep telling myself that maybe I'll learn to believe it too.//  
"Oh and she wouldn't be happier if she were here today - with her family and  
friends - alive!?"  
Hermione fought desperately to hold back tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. A losing battle, like so many other things she had been through.  
"Ron, she's not dead."  
"The ministry never found her, Hermione. The ministry never found her body."  
There was something, a controlled emotion, running beneath his words. Was it anger? Sadness? These days everything seemed intermingled.  
But it made something in Hermione snap. It was as though there was a tightly wound spring inside her that, after an accumulation of everything that couldn't be and wouldn't be and hidden truths, had suddenly reached breaking point.  
"And how does that immediately indicate she's dead? What do you know? And do you think living has been easy? Do you think living has been exactly the most easiest thing for me!?" Hermione spun away from Ron, wringing her hands; perhaps free of guilt that shouldn't have been there in the first place. "Ron if there's something I've learnt from all of this -- it's that there is nothing harder in this world than trying to continue living when there's nothing left to live for. Perhaps you're wrong for once Ron. Perhaps death isn't as bad as it seems. Maybe I should have died with him!" Hermione screamed, choking back a sob that swelled in her throat. "At least now I wouldn't spend every single day of my life, hoping and wishing and wanting and realising that he'll never EVER be back! Don't you see? It was never about picking sides or loyalties or anything else - it was, it was something so much deeper than that." Hermione confessed through her tears, emotions overcoming any more logical thought.  
She had missed Draco far too much, never really letting go of him, as if by doing so she would sever the last connection between them. Tension reverberated around the room, so thick it started to cloy Hermione's throat. Her crying had subsided and lessened to a pitiful sobbing, the only sound in the room apart from the steady monotonous tick-tock of the clock.  
  
Her reaction had had a sort of stunning effect on Ron. A shocked look settled on his face as he watched his old childhood friend -and perhaps it could have been more- literally break down in front of him. But slowly, in the aftermath of Hermione's dark confession, Ron seemed to realise what he'd done. He stepped forward slightly, enveloping Hermione in a warm, comforting hug. And to Hermione it felt right - safe, secure, and a lot more sheltered than she had felt in a long time, despite the barriers she had built around herself.  
  
As she fell into his arms, Hermione realised it felt like coming home.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
an:  
How do I ever say sorry to you guys? My beloved D/Hr shippers that I abandoned as I turned into a slasher.  
I am SO sorry, peeps. I love you all, and deeply appreciate and adore your reviews - both on this site and those that I have received by email.  
I haven't updated any of my D/Hr fics for such a long time *sigh* I know, I know...I left you guys hanging with my unfinished D/Hr stories. *glomps her reviewers*  
And erm, I know this chapter was short but I felt such a reunion should be a separate part from the next chapter.  
  
I HAVE decided, really, to pick up on my D/Hr stories, having been inspired by my two viewings of HPII: COS so far :-)  
  
Look out for more of this story and others in the near future: I'm baaaaaaaaack!! :D 


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